Lyrical Genius
by The Science Of Seduction
Summary: Sherlock and John. Drabbles inspired by lyrics. M because I say so.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1  
><strong>**Bones Sinking Like Stones.  
><strong>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
>I knew it was a mistake to take that man scuba diving. At first he refused, but then I persuaded him by telling him that he could take home one thing he found while we were out so he could experiment on it. It was fun while it lasted.<br>Scuba diving and London don't exactly mix, but there were no new cases and I've always wanted to try it.  
>So here we were, having a good time and Sherlock childishly picking up and object and dropping it when he found a more interesting one. I started to get cold in the water so I asked if he wanted to leave. Sherlock being Sherlock, he refused as he tried to find "the perfect thing". I sat on the shore of the stony beach, letting Sherlock go off on his own.<br>_I'll check on him in five minutes_, I thought, _just to make sure he hasn't drowned or something…_  
>I figured out that I didn't need to bother, every five or so minutes he came out of the water and dumped something next to me. By the third object, I was getting curious.<br>"Sherlock?"  
>"Mmm?"<br>"What's this stuff?" I asked, gesturing to the small pile of objects next to me.  
>"That 'stuff' as you call it is my collection of interesting things I've found," he proclaimed proudly.<br>"You know you're only allowed one, right?"  
>"Yes John, I am aware," he pouted, "I can't decide what I want while I'm underwater because I can't talk so I'm leaving it here so I can justify the perfect item when I'm done."<br>"Riiiight. Don't be long, I'm aching for tea," Sherlock smiled at me and continued on his search. I had to admit that he'd found some pretty interesting stuff. There was some sort of leathery thing, a bottle of black goo and an indescribable small skeleton. Sherlock returned constantly to dump things next to me for an hour, but after that hour he was missing for longer than usual. At least half an hour later, I decided to put on my gear and go looking for him. I had nearly finished when I saw his figure struggling out of the water. I ran to him worryingly but stopped as I realised the source of his staggering- he was dragging a large black object out from the water behind him.  
>"Sherlock! What <em>is<em> that? A baby whale?" _Please don't let it be a baby whale. Please.  
><em>"This, my dear John," he announced dramatically, dumping the object with the others, "is a bag. And inside of this bag," he brushed off some seaweed and unzipped the bag slowly. Not for dramatic effect, simply because it kept getting jammed. He pulled back the flaps of the bag with a flourish, revealing the interior, "is a body."  
>"Oh my <em>God<em>! Sherlock! You have to call Lestrade, now!" I screamed at him. Sherlock stepped back sheepishly and muttered under his breath, "Excuse me?"  
>"I said that you told me I could take home whatever I want," he glanced at the body, "I choose this."<br>"No, Sherlock, we're not taking home a dead body, we're ringing Lestrade."  
>"<em>Joooohhhhhhn," <em>he whined, "_pleeeeaaase,"_ I sighed. _At least it's not a baby whale._  
>"Alright, but right after you've finished, we're calling Lestrade. Okay?"<br>"Okay…"

I regret letting him take it home. Not only did the flat stink for weeks on end, but I had to but a new table for the kitchen as the last one broke under the weight of the dead body. Sherlock decided he'd leave it on the floor of the kitchen to experiment. I had no idea what he was doing to the body exactly, so I can't even begin to tell you what was going on in our flat, but by the end of the month, I snapped.  
>"Sherlock, for fuck's sake! Take this body OUT OF THE FLAT! The neighbours are complaining, Lestrade is getting suspicious and Mrs. Hudson will be home in a few days!" she was on a trip to the Bahamas. Lucky woman.<br>"Yes, but at least Mycroft doesn't visit anymore," he retaliated from his microscope.  
>"That's not the point, Sherlock. I want you to take this body to Lestrade so I can actually breathe in this flat!"<br>"Concrete!"  
>"What?"<br>"Concrete!" and with that he ran out the door. I sighed and sat heavily in my chair. I pulled out my phone to text Sherlock and as I did, it buzzed with a new message:  
><em>Don't worry, I'm telling him now. SH<br>_ *~*  
>Sherlock and I laughed as Anderson scowled at the smell of our flat. Lestrade had a gas mask on and was talking about something to do with 'letting it slide just this once'. They collected the body disdainfully and I proceeded to open every window and spray a mixture of air fresheners and deodorant around the flat.<br>"So," I started, turning on Sherlock, "concrete?"  
>"Yes, the man I found at the beach," he smiled, "had his bone marrow replaced with concrete. That's why he sank in the water instead of floating."<br>"Fair enough. Poor sod…" I trailed. Sherlock turned on the television and huddled onto the sofa.  
>"Tea?" he inquired. I sighed and agreed to make it for him.<br>"So… why did someone kill this man?"  
>"Don't know, don't care," I looked at him with surprise, "what? I solved the interesting part, I'm sure Lestrade can handle it. Besides," he glanced at me for a second. If I hadn't already been looking, I probably would have missed it, "I have better things to…do."<br>I turned back to the kettle with a blush.

**So if you haven't read Golden, this is a series of drabbles/ideas that didn't make it/snippets that didn't want to grow up and be tall and lanky and fight crime with their dashing good looks that send people like me swooning.  
>I'm prompting myself with the first line from a list of my favourite songs on my iPhone. If you know this one, good job :3<br>I will try to update as often as I can but I only have access to school computers and a lot of the time it's only for an hour. During the holidays, however I have full access to my own computer and I'll try to get more done.  
>Also, if you like my stories and are going to Supanova in Sydney on the 18<strong>**th**** and 19****th**** of June, I'll be wandering around in my Sherlock or undertaker gear (if my undertaker gear gets here in time) I'll most probably be walking with a grell and an alois and a DQ9 celestrian but if you're not sure just ask if I'm Arakai. Only if you're interested, I don't mind if no-one cares :3  
>Will update ASAP!<br>SH**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**You Were Working As A Waitress In A Cocktail Bar When I Met You.  
><strong>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
>John sighed. He'd been stood up. <em>Again.<em> She couldn't have been late or lost; he had been waiting for an hour at the pub _she _suggested.  
>"Screw it," he said aloud, "I'll drink myself silly," he called to the nearest waiter, a slender young man with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, but still letting two long pieces fall around his face, and striking green eyes.<br>"Yes, sir? What would you like?" he asked with a pleasant and cool voice.  
>"I'll have a mango daiquiri."<br>"Of course. Won't be a moment," he bowed his head and made his way to the bar. Minutes later, a slender, yet busty waitress delivered his cocktail.  
>"Sir, your drink," she informed him in a velvety tone. John looked at her in awe. She wore a long sleeved black shirt with enough buttons undone to show off her cleavage without looking skanky, skinny leather pants and black high heels. She brushed her short, straight, black hair away from her eyes and smiled at John, her blue eyes sparkling, "so how does someone like you end up lonely in a place like this?"<br>"I could ask the same thing of you," John flirted. The waitress extended her hand to John.  
>"My name's Sarah. And I happen to like working here. It means I get to meet men like you," John took her hand and kissed it softly, making Sarah blush.<br>"I'm John. And I got stood up," he let her hand go and sat back in his seat, still smiling warmly at her.  
>"More for me," she shrugged as she placed down his drink. She winked and returned to her work. John looked at his drink and saw writing on the serviette that was standing as a coaster.<br>_I finish at ten. Walk me home? Sarah xxx  
><em>John smiled again as he folded the serviette and wrote 'of course' on it. He began sipping at his drink as he watched her interacting with the other customers. He noticed that she had buttoned her shirt up more and didn't talk to them about anything other than their orders. John was relieved.

Two hours later, John found himself in the back alley of the bar. He waited patiently for Sarah to finish. She appeared at the back door and smiled warmly. John noticed she switched her high heels for ballet-style slip ons.  
>"Hi Johnny," she cooed. John lifted his arm and she slipped hers through it. She was slightly taller than he was, but at least she was wearing flat shoes that didn't exaggerate this difference. They walked around the streets, laughing and chatting about anything that came to mind. John thought that she really did like him, and he was glad for this. Eventually, they made it back to her flat. They stood on the porch and chatted lightly before John noticed it looked like it was about to rain.<br>"Hmm. I'm going to have to call a cab," he noted, looking at the faintly visible dark storm clouds that clogged the sky.  
>"You can come in if you like," Sarah suggested. John smiled warmly before nodding and following her up to her flat. Sarah's flat was extravagant and looked extremely expensive. There were glass statuettes of amorphous blobs littered around the flat. A large gold chandelier hung from the ceiling and illuminated the room. It was quite extraordinary for a waitress, which made John slightly suspicious. Sarah seemed to pick up on this suspicion and smiled at him.<br>"My parents are quite wealthy, but I didn't want to be spoilt by them so I chose to work a middle-class job to get by. Every now and then they buy me nice things like this, and I don't want to refuse their gifts. They're really nice people; all they want to do is make me comfortable…"  
>"I can see that," John agreed politely, "it's nice of you to do that."<br>"Thanks," she blushed. John noticed that she was a lot shier at her flat than she was at the bar. He sat down on the lounge next to her and she turned on the telly.

They watched some silly sci-fi show with an ugly man in a bowtie that called himself a doctor.  
>"David Tennant was much more handsome than him, don't you think?" Sarah inquired quietly. He mumbled in agreement even though he had no idea who that was. By the time she had asked him that, she was leaning sleepily on John's shoulder and he had his arm wrapped around her, "I'm sorry," she started, "I know this isn't what you were thinking we'd be doing when I invited you in."<br>"Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking of. I was just happy that I was with such a beautiful woman. And actually, I don't mind this. This is nice," Sarah looked up at him, her eyes slightly wide and her mouth ajar in surprise. Her hair had fallen in front of her face and John had the urge to brush it away and kiss her. After a few seconds she smiled again and settled back on his shoulder, staring drowsily at the TV.

Sarah had fallen asleep on the lounge during the show. John watched the slow rise and fall of her stomach and chest and the serenity that flooded her face as she slept. He grabbed his coat from the rack where he'd hung it earlier and placed it on her sleeping form before settling on an opposite lounge. After getting comfortable, he pulled out his phone and started reading an online story as he tried to make himself sleep.

John woke the next morning to an empty flat. He called out for Sarah before finding a note sitting on the small table next to the lounge.  
><em>Sorry to run out on you. Something important came up. Nothing too serious though. Didn't want to wake you. Same time next week? Promise I won't stand you up ;)<br>Sarah xxx  
><em>Her phone number was also written at the bottom. John collected his jacket and left the flat. He was about to walk onto the street when he realised he hadn't locked her door in any way. He turned to open it and found that somehow it had locked itself. Satisfied, he decided to walk back to 221b instead of getting a cab. It was only about a ten minute walk and he wasn't in great pain from sleeping on the lounge last night.  
>He walked through the chilly morning air in the park on his way home, admiring the autumnal trees that lined the pavement. Although the light breeze nipped at his ears and the tip of his nose, he felt warm as he thought of Sarah.<br>With his own flat in sight, John realised how cold he was getting and sped up a bit to get through the door quickly and warm himself. Providing Sherlock was already up and had lit the fireplace. He stumbled into the flat, mainly because he expected the door to open smoothly as he didn't know there was something blocking it on the other side.  
>"Sherlock," he grumbled as he pushed the heavy box towards the pile of other boxes. <em>Wait, what? Other boxes?<em> "Sheeerrrrlock? What are these boxes for?" John made his way to the kitchen, finding his flatmate figuratively glued to his microscope.  
>"Experiments. And cases," he replied bluntly, still not looking up from his microscope.<br>"Well, can you move them?"  
>"…Not right now."<br>"Why not?" John folded his arms, waiting for a reply. After a few minutes of stillness, he saw a white bottle on the table next to Sherlock, "what's in that bottle?"

"Pardon?"  
>"Glue…" Sherlock mumbled sheepishly. John looked at him in confusion, and then realisation.<br>"You've glued your face to the microscope…"  
>"No, my face is fine," he lifted his head from the microscope as if to prove this. John looked at him again and saw one hand on the table and the other…<br>"Oh God, Sherlock. Please don't tell me your hand's glued to your…" he waved his hand towards him. Sherlock screwed up his face.  
>"What? Oh… oh, no! No! Not there!" he lifted his arm from his lap and pointed to the one on the table, "it's glued to the table! Why would you think… no, never mind. It's the table. End of story," John sighed with relief. Sherlock scowled, "so, where were you last night? Obviously you didn't stay at Emily's. I doubt she even met you last night."<br>"Yes, you're right. She stood me up. I stayed at another girl's flat."  
>"You didn't sleep with her. You slept on the lounge. A comfortable one at that."<br>"I know Sherlock, I was there," Sherlock scowled again and returned to his microscope, "by the way, what are you looking at?"  
>"Nothing."<br>"No, seriously, what is it?"  
>"Nothing. I'm stuck here until the glue dissolves and everything I want to look at is at the other end of the table. I'm not looking at anything."<br>"Why don't you look around the room?"  
>"I gave up on that three hours ago."<br>"Oh," John shifted awkwardly. He looked at the arm that was stuck to the table and noticed his hand seemed to be free, "Sherlock?"  
>"Yes?"<br>"Can you move your hand?"  
>"Yes."<br>"So what exactly is stuck to the table?"  
>"My shirt, why?"<br>"So," John pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "you can take your shirt off and you'd be able to move around?"  
>"Yes."<br>"Then why don't you?" Sherlock looked up at him.  
>"It's cold," he pouted. John rolled his eyes and checked his watch.<br>"Well I don't have time to be mother-henning over you. I have to shower and be at the clinic in a couple of hours," and with that he set off towards his room.

When John came home, the house was exactly as he'd left it, except for a basket sitting inside the door. John stepped over the basket and found Sherlock still sitting at the table.  
>"Have you moved at all since I left?"<br>"No. Turns out the glue doesn't dissolve."  
>"Well at least that's one thing in this flat that doesn't," John looked back at the basket, "who's this from?"<br>"Oh, a woman came by earlier and left that for you."  
>"How did she-"<br>"She left a note, if that helps," Sherlock sighed from the kitchen. John opened the basket to find dozens of apples and a small note inside.  
><em>Sorry to surprise you but I saw these in Tesco's on the way home and they reminded me of you. And I'm not telling you how I knew where you lived, it's a mystery ;)<br>Sarah xx  
>P.S. They're Johnathan apples ;)<br>_John grinned at t he note and ignored Sherlock's bitching as he went up to his room.

He spent more and more of the next few weeks at Sarah's flat, and he was content to walk her home after every date. One night, John had the uncomfortable feeling that they were being followed.  
>"Sarah?" he whispered.<br>"Hmm?" she responded sleepily, lifting her head off his shoulder.  
>"I think we're being followed."<br>"Oh. Well, it's lucky I have you to protect me," Sarah hugged his arm tighter. John saw her flat, and was relieved that soon they'd be safer.  
>Once they'd reached the flat, John led her inside and locked the door behind them. She sat on the lounge, leading John to sit next to her. He let her lie on his shoulder as he kept an eye on the door. Soon he found that he was getting rather sleepy, and before he knew it he was unconscious in sleep.<p>

"John…John!" John heard Sarah's worried voice as he was shaken to consciousness. Opposite John and Sarah was a man with long blonde hair and striking green eyes.  
>"Hey," John said drowsily, "you're the guy from the bar."<br>"John, he's got your gun!"  
>"What?" John looked at the man and saw his British Army Browning L9A1 firmly wrapped in the waiter's slender fingers.<br>"What do you want, Jim?"  
>"Jim?" John repeated.<br>"Oh, drop the charade," Jim snapped, "or I _will_ shoot you."  
>"You wouldn't dare," Jim cocked the gun.<br>"Try me," he growled. Sarah sighed and turned to John.  
>"John… I have something I have to tell you," she glanced at Jim and then looked at her hands. After a while she lifted a hand to her hair and pulled it off, revealing very short black hair. She then put her hand into her shirt and removed two very realistic silicone breasts.<br>"John," said the waiter, "this woman-"  
>"Is actually Jim Moriarty," shehe finished. John's face twisted with a mix of anger, confusion and betrayal. The blonde waiter smiled devilishly at them and sadness fell in Moriarty's eyes before turning into a smirk of his own, "well… I guess I won!"  
>"No! It's unfair!" the waiter pouted.<br>"Only because you had to be a man."  
>"You try dressing as a girl with <em>these<em> cheekbones!" the waiter pulled at his hair, coming off like Moriarty's. Underneath was a familiar dark mop of hair.  
>"Sherlock?" cried John, "what the hell?" his shouting was drowned out by the argument the psychosociopaths were incomprehensively having. John stood up and held his place between them.  
>"John?" they both said at once.<br>"Tell me what the _hell_ is going on. _Now."_ John growled. Sherlock sighed and awkwardly played with the wig in his hands.  
>"John… you see…"<br>"We had a bet," Moriarty finished, "to see who could get you first."  
>"Get me?"<br>"To see who could get you into a relationship with them first. Moriarty thinks he's won, but the competition was unfair. I had to stop him before it got too far," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.  
>"You're just jealous," Moriarty sneered.<br>"No. No, I'm not hearing any more of this. I'm going home," John put his hands in the air in surrender and stormed out of the door. He caught a taxi back to Baker Street and stormed about the flat, noting the shirt that was still stuck to the table before finally stomping to his room after finding no energy to make himself tea. He lay down on his bed and sighed, replaying the event in his head until he heard the door to the flat open. After the door closed, footsteps made their way up the stairs. They faltered in front of the door, hesitant as to whether to disturb John or not.  
>"Piss off."<br>"Oh," came Sherlock's voice through the wood, "you _are _angry."  
>"Yes, Sherlock, I am <em>very <em>angry so kindly piss off!"  
>"… What can I do to make you feel better?" <em>wait, what? <em>John thought as Sherlock's words filled his ears.  
>"T…tea, please."<br>"Alright," John found this unusual behaviour quite distracting from his anger. He sat up on his bed as he heard Sherlock revisit his door, "John?"  
>"You can come in," John sighed. The door opened slightly and Sherlock's head poked in. John could still see the bright green contacts he had left in his eyes. Sherlock sat on the end of John's bed and offered him the cup. John took a sip before speaking again, "why did you make that bet?"<br>"It was his idea."  
>"Yes, but what for?"<br>"Well," Sherlock turned to face John, crossing his legs as he sat on the bed, "he said whichever one of us ge-"  
>"I know that part. What did the 'winner' get?"<br>"The 'winner' didn't get anything. The 'loser' would have to leave the winner alone for the rest of their lives."  
>"I can see why you participated."<br>"But I lost. I have to stay away from him."  
>"Sherlock," John started. Sherlock looked up at him, green eyes still flashing through the dimness of the room, "Take those contacts out."<br>Sherlock obeyed and put his fingers to his eyes to take out the circular green film that covered his pale blue eyes.  
>"And… your shirt. Take it off," Sherlock looked at John questioningly as he removed his long cotton shirt.<br>"Anything else?" Sherlock inquired. John smirked at him as he leaned in towards Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes lit up with realisation and he met John halfway. John poked the bottom of Sherlock's lip with his tongue and Sherlock opened up to let John explore. After a few minutes, John broke off and stared at Sherlock.  
>"I think we've found a winner," Sherlock mumbled in agreement, still dazed from the kiss. His brain finally caught up with him as he responded properly.<br>"You didn't answer my question, John," he whispered, "anything else?"  
>John pushed him onto his back and pinned him down, hovering over the shirtless detective.<br>"Your pants," he grinned lustfully, "take them off."

**Sorry I haven't updated for a while, really I am.  
>Unfortunately, I'm going to have to break your hearts a little more.<br>As of right now, I am absolutely swamped with work. And I'm not lucky enough to have access to a computer 24/7 so it makes doing this work very, **_**very **_**difficult. If I **_**did **_**have my computer with me, of course I'd be updating a lot faster, but I'd also be able to finish my work quickly, which wouldn't put me in this predicament. Both of my active stories (this one and Golden) are going to take quite a few weeks to update, and for that I'm really sorry, but it can't be helped. After I've finished school (Very soon) I'll be uploading like crazy, so hold on for a little bit and I'll see how much I can do until then.  
>Don't forget me…<br>SH**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3  
><strong>**I Spy Something Beginning With "S".  
><strong>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
>How could he <em>possibly <em>be this stupid? John. _My _John. My lovely, handsome, wonderful, delicio-  
>Ahem. Sorry. Where was I?<br>Right.  
>What an <em>idiot<em>! Even with the _simplest _of cases coupled with _all the clues _I've given him-  
>"I still don't know, Sherlock. Please just tell me," John sighed. I felt like smashing my head against the wall in frustration.<br>"Come _on, _John. It's easy! Why are you having such a hard time working out what the murder weapon was?"  
>"Maybe because I'm not a bloody genius like you are!"<br>"Was that an insult or a compliment?"  
>"I don't bloody know!" John threw his hands up in frustration. There was an awkward silence that was only broken by the light dripping of water that had formed inside the mine. Oh, yes, did I mention that? The case is in a mine.<br>A miner had collapsed in the mine after complaining that his skin was irritating him and he felt sick. The foreman started to lead him out of the mine when he suddenly fell into the water. The foreman jumped in after him and pulled him ashore. By the time they'd gotten him out it was too late. It reminded me of the Carl Powers case.  
>The rest of the miners were evacuated and Lestrade and his team were called. They couldn't figure it out so they called me. John had been complaining for weeks that he was basically useless with these investigations so I thought I'd help him figure it out. It's a simple case, after all.<br>"Just have a look around. Where are we?" I asked.  
>"We're in a mine, Sherlock, I'm not that stupid."<br>"That's right. Do you know what kind of mine?"  
>"Well, it's an aquatic mine…"<br>"Yes," I encouraged. John shot me a dirty look and I let him continue.  
>"It's an aquatic mine so they'd be using something to bring the ore to the surface, wouldn't they?" I opened my mouth to speak, "rhetorical question," John snapped. I closed my mouth again, "but I don't see how it connects with the body," I sighed at him. At least he did better than the others. Lestrade didn't even comment on the method the miners would have used to mine the ore.<br>"You did really well, John," I told him.  
>"Don't lie to me, Sherlock. I know I did terribly," his face dropped and he looked as though he was about to turn away from me. I placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at me, his eyes shining from either the arrival of tears of the faint light of the mine bouncing off them. Maybe it was both.<br>"I'm not lying, John. You _did _do really well. Better than Lestrade anyway," John chuckled at that. Suddenly, his eyes lit up in realisation.  
>"Carl Powers! It's like that case you took on! I bet it was Moriarty! It was, wasn't it?"<br>"…no, but good guess," by this time Lestrade had joined us again, informing us that we had two minutes before they had to leave. John sighed.  
>"Sherlock, just tell me, I'm not going to get it."<br>"But you're so close!"  
>"Sherlock!" he snapped, "Just tell me, please!"<br>"SEX," I stated. Lestrade spat his coffee out and John blushed furiously.  
>"Excuse me?" Lestrade asked, wiping his mouth.<br>"SEX. The miner died from SEX overdose."  
>"Pity neither of you have died yet," Anderson sneered as he walked past. John and Sherlock shot him a dirty look and Lestrade called out to them and brought them back to the issue at hand.<br>"What has sex got to do with the fact it's an aquatic mine? Are you saying miners get more action and he died from some STI?" John asked confusedly.  
>"No, not sex, SEX. Sodium Ethyl Xanthate. Miners use it to make ores float to the top of the water so they can retrieve them. There are traces of a yellow powder on his water bottle. He could have accidentally dropped a little into his water bottle, but a smaller dose isn't as fatal. So he was definitely murdered. The SEX made his skin irritated and as he was being led out it attacked his nervous system and he fell into the water. Find whoever keeps track of the SEX and you'll find your killer," I explained.<br>"Brilliant," John breathed.  
>"Thank you," I whispered. Lestrade shook his head and mumbled something about how they failed to see it. I smiled cheekily at him and turned to leave the mine, John's footsteps following behind me.<p>

"Sherlock?" John asked as we re-entered the flat. I slumped on the lounge and waited for the familiar sound of John sitting on his chair next to me. When it didn't come, I looked up at him. He looked… well… pissed off.  
>"Yes, John?" I asked cautiously. He threw his hands up in the air and as soon as he did I knew there was going to be trouble.<br>"HOW THE HELL WAS I MEANT TO KNOW THAT? WHAT WOULD POSSIBLY LEAD YOU TO THE CONCLUSION THAT I KNEW ABOUT SOME CHEMICAL THAT MINERS USE?"  
>"Well," I started, swinging up so I was seated and looking at him, "I remember you mentioning that you knew a lot about sex, and when I heard about the crime coupled with the fact that you've been feeling down about 'being useless' at crime scenes, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to make you feel better," I smiled at him. John stood before me, his eyes closed and his fingers clamped around the bridge of his nose, "John, what's the matter?"<br>"What's the-" he broke off with one of those chuckles that meant I'd said something wrong. Damn, "what's the matter? I'll tell you what's the mat- actually… no. Figure it out, genius. In the meantime, I'll be upstairs," he glared at me angrily, "Don't. Follow. Me."  
>He stormed up the stairs and slammed his door shut.<br>I think he's angry with me.  
>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4  
><strong>**We Turn Away To Face The Cold Enduring Chill.  
><strong>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
>"I hate you," John mumbled as he shivered in the snow. Sherlock was leaning over a body with only his coat and a furry jacket covering his usual suit. The snow-laden breeze whipped at their faces, giving John severe windburn. He wanted to face the other way, but then his words would be carried away by the strong wind, and he really felt like bitching at Sherlock.<br>"Why would that be, John?" Sherlock asked calmly, squinting to look at the body through the wind.  
>"Oh, gee, I don't know. Maybe because <em>I have seven layers on and I'm still freezing?"<em> John managed to shout without stammering. Sherlock still avoided facing the man, continuing to crouch near the body.  
>"Not my fault," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.<br>"NOT YOUR FAULT?" John practically screamed, "_I _wasn't the one who dragged his flatmate out of bed at an ungodly hour to go on a mystery voyage! _I _wasn't the one who didn't tell the aforementioned flatmate that he would need plenty of warm clothes! _I-_"  
>"John, you do realise it's warmer down here, don't you?" Sherlock interjected. John lost his train of bitching and stared at the man crouching in front of him.<p>

"Excuse me?"  
>"You can't see it but there's a small ramp of solid snow a few metres away. It's blocking most of the wind down here and therefore it's warmer," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. John moved his mouth in a silent 'oh' and crouched next to Sherlock. Sherlock could still feel John shivering next to him, so he huddled closer.<br>"Sherlock?"  
>"Mmm?"<br>"What are you doing?"  
>"Huddling closer to you," John was getting annoyed at how casual he was about it, "it's what penguins do to stay warm," as if on cue, a small, stray penguin appeared out of nowhere and started coming towards them. Sherlock noticed John perk up slightly as he noticed the tiny bird. The penguin was pushed over by a strong force of wind and John made a small 'ohh' noise as it tried to stand back up. Sherlock sighed softly and reached across the body to scoop up the penguin. He plopped it into John's lap and returned to the body. John stared at the penguin. <em>It's so cute…and fluffy and…<em>John thought. He reached out a gloved finger and stroked its head. The penguin squirmed under his finger at first, but then it slowly closed its eyes and moved its head so John was stroking the good spots. Sherlock scowled.  
>"Come on, we're going," he said to John as he stood up. John looked up at him, the penguin still cupped in his hands.<br>"What? Already?"  
>"John, a second ago you were complaining about <em>being<em> here and now you don't want to _leave_?"  
>"Yes, well…" he glanced at the fluffy bird in his hands, "what am I meant to do with the penguin?" as if to emphasise his point, John extended his arms and showed the penguin to Sherlock.<br>"Leave it?"  
>"Noooo, Sherlock!" he started rocking his hands as they were in the air, making the sleepy body of the bird rock gently with his hands, "you can't leave me here!" he said in a silly voice that Sherlock assumed was meant to represent the penguin, "pwease Sherwock! Pweeeease!"<br>"Fine!" Sherlock surrendered with exasperation, "take the damn thing with you."  
>John grinned and stood up, tucking the penguin into one of his many layers and following Sherlock through the snow and back towards their camp.<p>

"So," started Sherlock as he dumped his outer coat on the foldable table inside their tent, "I suppose you've named the thing."  
>"<em>The penguin <em>is called 'Pingu'."  
>"Oh, God," sighed Sherlock. John placed the tiny penguin in the middle of the discarded jacket and bundled the clothing around it. Sherlock glared at the bird as John stroked its head.<br>"John?" he almost hissed. He had his back turned but he could still see the adoration the penguin was getting as the image was basically burnt into his mind. _Wait. _He thought, _I... am I... jealous?_  
>"Yes, Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock still stood there, unmoving as he spoke to John while facing the wall. He heard John take a step towards him.<br>"You know Lestrade's not going to let us keep the penguin-"  
>"<em>Pingu."<em>John corrected.  
>"Yes, Pingu. He's not going to let us keep him," John sighed and turned back to the penguin. Sherlock could hear the disappointment oozing from John's words. It made his stomach turn. He finally turned back to John, watching the man who was distantly looking at the tiny, feathery ball. Sherlock sighed inwardly and joined John in his viewing of the penguin. He placed a hand on John's small, yet muscular, shoulder.<br>"I," Sherlock nearly cursed himself for even considering what he was about to say, but it _was _his fault, "I _might _be able to slip it past him for the trip home…"  
>At that, he heard Lestrade's crunching footsteps as they shuffled towards the camp. Sherlock bundled up the penguin and pushed it into the corner of the table.<br>"What have you got?" Lestrade asked as he entered the large tent. John stiffened and Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.  
>"The man died from Vitamin A poisoning," Sherlock stated. John relaxed slightly and Lestrade gave Sherlock a confused look.<br>"Vitamin A poisoning?"  
>"Yes."<br>"Care to explain?"  
>Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes again, "The man had a dog with him. The dog died in the blizzard and the man was lost and couldn't find his way back. After a few days, he would have gotten hungry and thus eaten the dog," he noted John's disgusted expression and continued, "the more days he spent out there, the more he had to eat. Eventually he would have gotten to the liver, which would give him an overdose of Vitamin A."<br>"B-Brilliant," John murmured. Lestrade gave them the look of 'Why didn't _I _think of that?', which made Sherlock smile slightly. Lestrade told them the plane would be ready for them shortly, leaving Sherlock and John with the penguin.  
>"Sherlock, would you really help me keep the penguin?"<br>"Yes."  
>"Why? You clearly don't like it."<br>"… Whatever makes you happy."  
>"You… you did it for me?"<br>"The plane's leaving soon. I suggest you finish packing," Sherlock stated. John's face turned a deep crimson as Sherlock left him in the tent.  
>"You <em>do <em>care…" he whispered, tucking the penguin into his pocket.  
>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5  
><strong>**All Around Me Are Familiar Faces.****  
><strong>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
>"Sherlock?" John called, shaking the thin man's shoulders in the opening of the alleyway. Sherlock roused with a groan and immediately clutched his aching head. When he pulled it away, he jumped at the crimson that dripped down his palm, "you're awake! Thank God!" John cried, embracing the wounded detective and digging his head into Sherlock's neck, inhaling deeply. Sherlock's face twisted in confusion and he shoved the doctor off him.<br>"What the hell? Who are you? What happened?" Sherlock demanded from him. His head was starting to spin, making him slump back down the wall. John looked torn, his face depressed and his puppy eyes staring solemnly at Sherlock.  
>"Sherlock, it's me, John. Don't worry, the ambulance will be-"<br>As if on cue, the sirens blasted through the street, and within what seemed like a few seconds to Sherlock, he was swept up and taken to the hospital.

John waited anxiously in the foyer. He was irritated at how calm the doctors seemed to be. He wanted to scream at them. He stood and paced around the room. He wanted to do something, something to help Sherlock. He hated how he was in the dark about what was going on.  
>"Everything alright, John?" Lestrade asked from behind him. John jumped a little at his sudden appearance, but was thankful that he had a friend to talk to.<br>"I don't know, they won't tell me anything."  
>"What happened back there?" Lestrade asked with concern. John sat back down on the chair and heaved a heavy sigh.<br>"You know Sherlock, always taking off. He was running after the bloke from the bar- you know, the suspect for the Peterson case? Well, anyway, he took off and left me to trail after him. By the time I caught up with him, he was slumping against the wall with blood running down his head..."John explained. Lestrade gave him a comforting pat on the back and noticed a tear escaping John's eye, "tell me he'll be okay, Lestrade."  
>"I'm not making any promises. All I can do is hope with you."<p>

It was at least four hours before John was allowed to see Sherlock. Lestrade joined him and they were both relieved when Sherlock looked okay.  
>"Lestrade, nice of you to visit," Sherlock greeted, "and who is this? A new officer of yours?"<br>"Sherlock, you know who this is. It's John. John Watson," Lestrade frowned. Sherlock screwed his face up in confusion as he settled his cold, blue eyes on John. They were as piercing as when John first met him, and now he realised just how much Sherlock had changed since they first met. The gaze that was usually poked onto others softened when it looked at John, but no longer. John felt as though his heart was breaking. He felt his eyes itch with tears, but he suddenly sniffed them back when he saw a smile break across Sherlock's face.  
>"Of course I know who it is. How could I forget someone like you?" Sherlock grinned. John smiled weakly in relief before rushing to his side and embracing the detective.<br>"You're not funny," he whispered into his neck, nuzzling it gently.  
>"I know. But aren't you glad I'm fine?" Sherlock retorted cheekily.<br>"I honestly thought it would be quieter around the flat it you'd forgotten everything."  
>"...You're not funny."<p>

**Yes, it's short, and I do apologise. But I wasn't going to make some nasty, cliché amnesia story. I did at first, but then I remembered- it's cliché. As a forgiveness present, I'm uploading another chapter. Yay!  
><strong>**Also, I didn't forget about this. Yay! And I'm going to try to respond to all the reviews from now on, so that's a little exciting, isn't it?  
>Thank you all for being so patient with me.<br>SH**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6  
><strong>**Yoku mite suteki ne?  
><strong>(Take a look at this- isn't it pretty?)  
>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*<p>

"No."  
>"Yes."<br>"I'm not putting _that _on, Sherlock."  
>"John," Sherlock started, holding up a short, ruffled dress, "you <em>have <em>to. We have to disguise."  
>"Why don't <em>you<em> put it on? You're more feminine than I am," John responded pointedly, placing his hands on his hips. Sherlock rolled his eyes and tossed the dress on the bed with the other clothes. He tied the ribbon around his kimono with a sigh and watched John sulk on the bed as he fitted his wig on.  
>"That's why I am dressing as a geisha, John. You have to be a lolita girl if we're going to pull of this case. It's just a disguise, John. No-one should recognise you."<br>"I don't care. I don't want to wear a short, fluorescent, fluffy dress or those thigh-high boots."  
>"Don't forget all the jewellery and make-up..."<br>"The jewellery and WHAT? No, Sherlock, no way."  
>"I think you'll look totemo kawaii," Sherlock grinned. John blushed, sighed and started to put the dress on in defeat. Sherlock grinned wider as the jewellery clinked onto his wrists and around his neck and John glared at him pointedly, hissing at the smug detective.<br>"Baka."

**Japanese!Shwatsonlock in my first 221B fic. (221 words, the last starting with B)  
>Totemo kawaii= very cute<br>Baka= idiot.  
>Thanks again for being patient. Waffles for everyone! :3<br>SH**


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